As I sit writing, I am surrounded
by strings - strings of conversation, strings of emotions, the strings that make up our lives. So many strings floating lightly and delicately through
the air like discarded spider’s webs.
I wonder if I’m the only one
here who notices it. Everyone here is so
immersed in the reasons they came - food,
conversation, work. Everyone living in
their own sphere, aware of only their own strings.
The men sitting in the table next
to me have come to discuss some sort of business plan. They are different in race, marital status,
and age, yet business has united them in conversation and goal.
The girl sitting diagonally across
from me reminds me of a character in a movie who had to cut off her hair so
that pirates would think her a boy and ignore her. Yet – this girl is lacking in spunk and
depth. The way she's laughing too hard
at the boys across from her tells me that she is immersed in only one of a few
different strings. Attaining, perhaps,
or pleasing, or keeping.
There’s a young man in the corner
who is charging his phone and listening to music I suppose through those earphones. His hunched disposition tells me that he is
not only unaware of the other strings in this room – he does not want to be
aware of them.
And then my eyes graze a girl about
my age, who is sitting by herself, sipping a hot drink. I remember seeing her come in and observing
her long, slender, carmel-colored legs, and her dark, shining, braided
hair. I remember thinking she was one of
those people that make me wonder if all
humans truly are one species. Yet, when
my eyes scan her face, I realize she is looking straight back at me. She stares back at me unashamedly until I
finally look away. And I wonder.
Is she another, like me, who is
interested in seeing the strings? Does she wonder about the mother sitting in the corner without a wedding, or the couple who won’t meet each other’s eyes, like I do? Does she look not just to find, but to see
and to understand?
Perhaps. But it’s a question I’ll never have the
answer to. Because while I am brave
enough to look for the strings and wonder about them, I’m not brave or free enough
to track them down and find their meanings.
And so I’ll sit here amongst the
strings, seeing without understanding, and wondering a bit which is the better
fate: to never see the strings that surround you, or to see them without
understanding?
